


Frustrating Fuck Ups

by Waddler



Category: Villainous (Cartoon)
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, angste - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-27
Updated: 2018-04-27
Packaged: 2019-04-28 10:40:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14447553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Waddler/pseuds/Waddler
Summary: Flug has an anxiety attack over a commercial gone wrong.





	Frustrating Fuck Ups

**Author's Note:**

> Howdy Yall, I figured I'd write this lil' blurb since you know how much i like projection my emotions onto fictional characters.

Of all the days for shit to hit the fan, it just had to be the day they had a commercial planned. It had to be on the one day out of the entire month that he was going to be live in front of an audience of some of the most evil and vile beings alive. It had to be that day that his anxiety acted up to the point of sobbing. At least he had managed to make it to the end of the broadcast before he mentally malfunctioned, or at least until he actually started crying, because the way he acted on camera was most _ definitely _ the result of a  _ mental malfunction.  _ He didn’t know what went wrong. He had tested his invention practically a thousand times, but when he went on camera, the damn gun jammed. He tried and tried to pull the trigger, but it just wouldn’t budge. His boss ended up ripping it out of his hands and pulling the trigger without the slightest issue, and the thing fired perfectly. It took more than a little effort not to just run off stage then and there, but he still had to explain how the machine worked. 

‘Okay, it’ll be fine, this is the easy part. All you have to do is say what it does and how it does it’ He could do this. It was so easy, and it should've gone so smoothly, but it didn’t. In fact, quite the opposite. He kept backtracking, explaining things wrong, stumbling over his own words, and his stuttering seemed to have gotten about ten times worse. He was at his wit’s end, and the second the the camera changed to just his boss, he bolted. He ran as fast as he could towards the exit, ignoring the sting in his eyes, ignoring the way demencia called out for him with a questioning and almost concerned voice, ignored 505 when the bear tried to hug him, and ignored the gravelly sound of his boss calling his name in a way that would’ve seemed concerned to anyone who didn’t know better.

All he did was run. He ran and he ran and he ran. The hallways of the mansion that always seemed to be changing and shifting and were difficult enough to traverse on a good day, but his attempts to make it to his room were completely forgotten after so long of not recognising his surroundings. He honestly had no idea where he was. He had run, and run, and run, and now he couldn’t run any longer. He knew that the mansion was bigger on the inside than the outside, but he had no idea to just what extent the size difference actually amounted. All he knew was that if he went into the deeper recesses of the unending halls, he would likely never find his way out again. But he didn’t particularly care at the moment.

 

Panting, wheezing, and sobbing, he pressed his back to the wall to his left and slid down. He felt his but hit the ground and he wrapped his arms around his knees. He laid his head down in between them, his bag crinkling slightly at the action. He tried not to be loud, he really did. He used so much effort to avoid alerting anyone to his position, including biting into his arm so hard he left a bruise even through the lab coat he was wearing, but he just couldn’t contain the noises in the end. He finally had to open his mouth when hie sinuses became to clogged ot breath through his nose, with his mouth open, he sobbed freely and much to his dismay, loudly. He reached a hand up underneath his bag, and grabbed at his hair, pulling at the base near his roots, and digging his fingers into his scalp, but it wasn’t enough. He took his gloves off, and with a loud cry, he removed the bag and goggles and threw them at the opposite wall. He wouldn’t be able to see through his eye pieces anyways considering the dried tear stains. Now that he on longer had his gloves on, he dug his nails into his scalp, but it wasn't enough. He pulled and he dug, and he sobbed violently all while the voices in his head screamed louder and louder at him.

‘You’re a worthless, pathetic excuse of an inventor. I don’t even know why i ever hired you. How could you not even operate your own contraption when it wasn’t even broken. You’re absolutely pathetic.’ it was black hat’s voice. It wasn’t angry or intense, it wasn’t a yell, it was a voice that was calm, but full of disgust, disappointment, and hatred.

‘HAHAHA, How did you manage to fuck up that bad, loser? I bet that even I could invent something better than that in my sleep, although it’s not like your lazy ass hasn’t tried inventing in your sleep before. You know, i think you should go make a machine that’s meant to kill idiots like to. HAHAHA’ It was Demencia. Her high pitched cackle was ear-grating and did nothing to help his headache from crying. 

A low growl, and hostile noises accompanied by a vivid mental image of 505 snarling at him. He was clawing at his creator with vigor, and he did nothing, partly wishing that the claws were really digging into him.

‘You’re pathetic. You can’t do anything right. How do you even manage to fail at operating a perfectly good weapon? Wait, hold that thought. Knowing you, it was probably a botched gun and your savior of a boss fixed it for you. You’re such a piece of shit. You managed to ruin a perfectly good shooting and not to mention, oh, i don’t know, remember that little ‘anxiety free’ streak you had going, yeah, say goodbye to that you bitch. What are you even doing here? You have a lab with thousands upon thousands of deadly contraptions, and chemicals that you could, no,  _ should _ be using on yourself, but here you sit, lost in your own damn house crying you’re fuckign eyes out, you ugly faggot. You really are nothing but a disgrace.’ It was his own voice, and it spoke loudest of all, despite the fact that it was only a whisper.

WIth another loud sob, he brought his head up fast an hard, hitting it off of the wall behind him as hard as he could. He took solace in the pain, and the lightheadedness caused, but quickly repeated the action, muttering a repeated mantra of ‘stupid, worthless, pathetic’ hurriedly under his breath. He lowered his head and moved to bash it up against the wall a third time only to be interrupted by a loud call.

“Flug?” It was black hat. He was standing above him with a look of concern. It hurt, because he knew he didn’t deserve that concern. The eldritch bent down, but Flug flinche, throwing himself in the other direction landing on his back on the floor. He looked up at his boss, and he wanted to condole the other. Tell him that nothing was wrong, that he was just being a goddamn drama queen, and that he was blowing this out of proportion, and that everything was fine, but all he could do was sob. He sobbed and he sobbed. Eventually, he couldn’t hold himself up on his arms any longer and he closed his eyes and let himself fall to the floor, but he never hit. Instead, he found himself being cradled in Black Hat’s arms. The other had teleported to him and caught him.This was what made flug sob harder. He boss was being nice. His boss was  _ never  _ nice. And of all people, why did he have to choose  to  _ him  _ be nice to? He didn’t deserve it. He was pathetic, and weak, and he was barely even competent, and yet, here he found himself lying in the arms of an all powerful being who seemed to actually be concerned about him, as ridiculous as it was. He wanted to run more. He wanted to get up, and leave, to have the eldritch drop him and leave him to die in peace, but he couldn’t. He could barely move. All he could do was look up at him, and cry. He closed his eyes, and he tried to ignore him, tried to pretend that he was alone, but ht couldn’t anymore when the eldritch pulled him close. He latched on to the other’s coat, and he sobbed into the dark material, and he wasn’t gonna let go.

He wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, but after some time had past, and he had stopped crying and just layed there, feeling numb. His head hurt, and his eyes stung, and he was absolutely exhausted. He blinked slowly, his eyelids feeling stuck together, and gross. He felt his boss shift and stand up, taking the scrawny scientist with him. Flug would’ve protest, he would’ve tried to stop his boss, and to get away, but he couldn’t he just sat there while his boss picked him up, only lied their limp as a screaming demonic portal opened in the middle of the hallway. Only cooporated as he was placed down on something soft. He never opened his eyes. Not as his boss carefully removed his clothes to replace them with something more suitable for sleep, not as he was placed under the extravagant silk covers, not as his boss pulled him close and ran his claws through his vibrant, fiery orange curls. He didn’t move as his boss tucked his head under his chin, or as he felt those razorlike claws lightly trace his skin while radiating warmth. He only moved once at the brief words of his boss. “I adore you Flug. You know that. Please don’t cry.” At that phrase, more tears began to flow, and he buried his face in his boss’ coat. When the fow stopped, he dried his eyes on his boss’ sleep shirt, and curled up. He was numb, but he was warm and he was comfortable, and he was most definitely tired, and soon, he was asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> So, as odd as it is, writing about this shit helps me feel better. Like, Today, the highschoolers were giving tours to the 8th graders, and i was in show choir. I had to dance and sing, but i messed up pretty bad (i.e., like, not at all, but you know, anxiety, yay), so i figured what if flug went through a normal broadcast, but it just sorta felt wrong, and bad, and faulty?


End file.
